


the end was soon

by chilipepperconverse



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, And Lots of It, Caretaking, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fix-It, Hickeys, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, KindOf?, Kissing, M/M, Neck Kissing, Rough Kissing, Scar Worship, Set in Episodes 159-160 | Scottish Safehouse Period (The Magnus Archives), Sleepy Cuddles, au where the watchers crown doesnt work :) self care, just hardcore smoochin, not so much it doesnt work as it gets interrupted, so glad thats a tag, youll see - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:05:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27100153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chilipepperconverse/pseuds/chilipepperconverse
Summary: Martin was out in the rain, of course he turned around and went back to the house.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 13
Kudos: 184





	the end was soon

**Author's Note:**

> ok hi! i started writing this fic immediately after finishing season 4 because holy fuck. holy fuck. h
> 
> anyway i hope you enjoy this one! it’s a loose sequel to my first jm fic, but works as a stand-alone too. its also just So self indulgent so i hope that it scratches that itch for you too! 
> 
> the title is a reference to NFWMB by hozier! ;)

This wasn’t like any normal statement. That much was clear. 

Of course Jon had realized that as soon as he read his own name, and his voice took on Elias’s sneering, devious tamber. But this was still aterrifyingly different experience than any other statement Jon had read.

Normally, the story would engulf him. It would obscure his conscious mind completely, leaving nothing but the primal part of him that absorbed whatever information he was being given. Jon was used to reading statements being a time where he simply faded into himself, content to let his mouth rattle on and his mind go blank.

So when he found himself actually hearing Elias’s—  _Jonah’s_ —  words, Jon was flung into sheer panic. It was like watching himself from the outside- fully aware, but unable to control his body as his lips formed each word against his will. Jon couldn’t stop himself no matter how hard he tried. Drawing his eyes away from the page strained at the nerves that anchored them in place, until they snapped to where they had been the moment before with a magnetic precision. A mounting sense of terror grew under his skin as the words were all but yanked from his throat by a sick sort of fishing line. 

_ It’s rare that you get the chance to monologue through another, and you can’t tell me you’re not curious. _

Curiosity was one thing, actually experiencing it was another. Jon felt as though his soul was just shy of filling in his whole body— every part of him was impossibly far away from every other. He could reach out, try and hold the page farther away, but the command from his brain fizzled out before reaching the hand, and his fingers only twitched. As much as Jon hated to admit it, he couldn’t deny that a part of him  _did_ garner satisfaction from having the truth about what “Elias” had been hiding all this time told to him. The shame of that satisfaction formed a pit in his stomach as he continued reading, knowing full well that he should stop, but no longer knowing if he wanted to.

_ So what began as an experiment soon became a race_ .

Desperate, Jon urged himself to lean in and look at the statement closer, in the hopes that his reading glasses might slide off his nose if he hunched over far enough. If he couldn’t make out the words, he might have enough time to escape whatever thrall Jonah had put him under. But he only inched forward, and his glasses stayed put, perched on the bump where bone met cartilage.  _Dammit_.

_The solution, then, is simple: A new ritual must be devised which will bring through all the Powers at once._

Jon could only listen to himself in abject horror, as Jonah laid out the truth of his title, circumstance, and grim purpose. He could now see his hands shaking enough to make the paper move, enough to make the writing unintelligible, but the words still tumbled from his mouth. 

_It’s not in your blood, or your soul, or your destiny. It’s just in your own, rotten luck._

He jumped when the thunder clapped, its rumble echoing across the sky. Jon knew better than to chalk a sudden storm up to coincidence at this point. Something was about to go  _horribly_ wrong.

A thousand tiny pinpricks in his skin. A knife, twisting in his gut. A blade across his throat. A searing heat in his right hand. A rush of air past his ears. A haze of molten plastic and shrapnel. A loss. A friend turned enemy. A bone pulled clean through his skin. An infinite amount of earth, pushing down on his chest. A sun of impossible darkness. A sea of fog, hiding the one he loves. He was not human.

_You are prepared. You are ready. You are_ marked.

Jon reeled back with all his might, but his body had gone completely still. He couldn’t even feel the minute twitching of muscles anymore, and he wasn’t sure if they had stopped or if he was that far removed from control. His racing heart seemed to stall before failing entirely. Jonah Magnus had caught him. 

_Now. Repeat after me:_

This was it, then. No grand ritual, no gathering before a massive pyre. Just Jon, sitting in a tiny cottage in the Scottish countryside, reading some words out loud. If he had been able to, he would have laughed at the absurdity of it. 

_Come to us in your wholeness._

His panic gave way to shame. He hadn’t been enough to stop it.

_Come to us in your perfection_.

Then shame gave way to resolve. There was no point in fighting it anymore.

_Bring all that is fear and all that is terror and all that is—_

With a start, the front doorknob rattled and twisted. The door itself swung open slowly and creaked on its hinges, a gust of wind and rain drifting in. Jon burst from his chains and seized himself, relief and terror flowing through him in equal measure, while a sharp ache began to spread outwards from his racing heart, intensifying with every inch of him it conquered. 

“Sorry!” Martin giggled. He pushed back the hood of his sweatshirt and bent down to untie his shoes. “I didn’t want to interrupt, but it started thundering and— Jon? Are... you okay?“

Jon stood, his legs wobbling wildly beneath him. The pain that froze his body in place was only made worse by moving, like breaking solid ice into piercing shards. But the promise of being in Martin’s arms was more than enough to send him staggering across the room as best he could. 

His partner stared, wide-eyed with confusion, as Jon made his way around the couch and collapsed into a convulsing heap right before him.

“Jon!” Martin yelped, scooping him up in one swift motion. On instinct, Jon burrowed into the folds of Martin’s hoodie, breathing in as much of his scent as could fit in his lungs. 

Jonah hadn’t been exaggerating about it hurting to stop; Every fiber of Jon’s body sang with unimaginable fury. He clenched fistfuls of fabric in his shaking hands, all the energy that had built up during the ritual cascading through him with nowhere to go. He was crying, sobbing, wailing. Distantly, Martin was crying too, asking what had happened, was he hurt, but there was no way Jon could answer. The pain was seething through him in waves— every scar he had felt fresh, ripped open and replaying its source on his skin, in his stomach, on his throat. He shook so much that he was sure Martin was being jostled about too, but his partner’s steady hands rubbed his back and held him tightly.

“Shh, its okay. I’ve got you,” Martin whispered into his hair, his own tears now rolling silently down his cheeks. His breath was unsteady on every inhale, shoulders rising and falling as he gasped for air, but he put on a brave face. “I’ve got you, you’re okay. You’re okay, babe, it’s okay...”

Jon could feel his body destroying itself, only to meld right back into shape. Cells dividing fast enough to cover the large swathes of him that died en mass, leaving Jon’s skin bumping and rippling, but never broken, like all the monsters his scars told stories of were buried there beneath them.

Martin stared, horrified. He knew Jon went into a sort of trance when he read statements, but it had never been this...  _dramatic_... when he was stopped before.

“I didn’t... ah,” he began, peeling himself back to look his boyfriend in the eyes. Jon stared back at him through red, inflamed eyelids, and the pain in his expression was utterly heartbreaking. Martin carefully took away Jon’s reading glasses that had been knocked askew and started to brush away his tear stains. “I didn’t... do this, did I? By, uh, interrupting you?”

“W-what? No,” came Jon’s strained reply. He shook his head, trying to smile through a grimace. “Well, kind of? But—  _god_ , Martin, it was—”

Before he could finish, a shockwave radiated out from his chest, in the spot where Hopworth’s hand had plunged into his body. He gasped and doubled over in pain, feeling Martin’s arms wrap around his body in an instant as he crashed into him. Jon took solace in knowing that if the ritual’s burnoff was replaying all his ‘marks,’ then it was almost over. 

Martin still held him, soaking wet from the rain, shivering with both the cold and the agony of knowing he couldn’t do anything but wait for whatever was happening to Jon to pass.

“Then what on Earth  _did_ this to you?” Martin asked, cradling his partner even closer to him.

Jon realized the statement had still been clutched in his hand when he stumbled over, and found it haphazardly thrown aside. He feebly pointed it out to Martin.

His boyfriend scanned the paper, expression bouncing between emotions with alarming speed and intensity. Jon backed away and held onto himself tightly, for fear that being too close would bring him back under to finish the invocation. Just as Jon was about to ask if he was okay, Martin gripped the top of the paper and tore it down the middle. In each hand he crumpled the two halves of the letter, jaw set hard. He threw his arm back and chucked the wads of paper across the room, seemingly aiming for the dying mound of embers in the fireplace, but missing by a few feet. 

“He...” Martin glared, lower lip quivering and eyes glinting with furious tears. He took a deep breath and turned to face Jon with a much kinder gaze. Taking all the care in the world, Martin pulled him back into the safety of his embrace.

“He can’t hurt you anymore,” he said, gently rubbing circles into Jon’s back. “He won’t.”

Jon sighed, his breath exiting him in a jumpy, garbled mess warped by his trembling. He didn’t know how much truth Martin’s sentiment held— Jonah had definitely seen that his ritual failed, and would certainly be planning some way to get back at them. But Jon supposed that was something to worry about later, when his body was actually in working order. He leaned on Martin, pushing his cheek into the dip of his clavicle so the bridge of his nose was flush with his partner’s neck. The two of them stayed there for some time, Martin still in his untied boots and the door swaying open from the wind. 

“Can you move at all?” Martin asked, his voice brimming with the softest kind of worry. 

Jon stirred. “Barely,” he grunted. “I mean I can, but it hurts. Feels like I just ran a marathon and sprinted the whole time.”

Martin chuckled at this. “I suppose you kind of did, in a way. You look terrible.”

“Wow, you  _love_ to hear your boyfriend say that to you,” Jon said with a sarcastic smile. 

“That is NOT what I meant and you know it!” Martin retorted. He dropped the playfulness and reached for Jon’s hand. Scarred, bony fingers readily intertwined with his pale and painted ones. 

“Let’s go lay down, then,” he said quietly, leaning close enough that his lips almost touched Jon’s ear. At the suggestion Jon practically melted against him, muscles relaxing. “We can turn in early tonight. Do you need help getting up?”

Jon only made a whining noise in response, adjusting his arms to wrap around Martin’s neck and straddling his torso with his legs. With a fond eye roll, Martin lifted him up and carried him to the bedroom. 

The duvet was only haphazardly pulled up, making it fairly easy to yank back one-handed. Martin deposited his precious cargo on the bed and made his way to the dresser to put on some dry clothes. A pair of warm pajamas later, he settled under the covers to the fanfare of Jon reaching for him. Martin smiled, slid his arm under Jon’s, and pulled him closer until the two of them were pressed together again, legs intertwined, breathing in each other’s air. 

Sometimes it was hard to fully convince himself that this was reality. That Jon had followed him to such a dangerous, otherworldly place, saved him from its influence, and whisked him away to this house in the clouds to keep the two of them safe. It had Martin falling in love all over again. 

“You feeling any better?” he asked barely above a whisper. His arm that held up his pillow ended in just the right spot to reach Jon’s hair, and Martin wound a lock of it around his finger methodically. It seemed to have a calming enough effect, though Martin wasn’t above saying that could have just been his presence in general.

“Yes, I think so,” Jon murmured, nestling further into the space created by the curve of Martin’s body. “It... hurts a lot less. And you’re here, now.”

Martin chuckled and pressed a kiss to Jon’s hairline. “I was like, ten feet away, for five minutes.”

“And I missed you in that time,” Jon said matter-of-factly, stretching his arms out further so he could hold as much of his boyfriend as possible. His voice was muffled, as his face was now almost completely sandwiched between Martin’s neck and the bed. But that wasn’t close enough. He brought one of his legs up and around Martin’s hip, fully clinging to him like a sloth to a tree. 

In spite of the circumstance, Martin couldn’t help but smile at how cuddly Jon had gotten. He slowly slipped a hand under his shirt, reveling in the pleased shiver that it send through his partner. Martin gingerly ran a finger over the bumps and scars riddling Jon’s back, recalling what each marking looked like as he traced them. He had always thought they were beautiful— they were a part of Jon, after all. But a flash of anger burned through him when he remembered the statement from Jonah. To him, Jon was nothing more than a dartboard, a checklist of traumas, a blank canvas to paint with blood and scar tissue. It made Martin  _sick_. But, if they were safe here, that wasn’t important. What mattered was that nothing else would be coming to hurt the man he loved— not if Martin had anything to say about it. 

Jon tried to focus on what was in front of him. He tried to focus on his breathing, to line up his panting with Martin’s steady inhalations. 

But every time he closed his eyes, all he saw was the door. The wood warping under the pressure, seawater finding its way through every crack and seeping from the space at the bottom. Holes punched through it, gushing with more information than he could handle. It had come so,  _so_ close to opening fully. To washing him away completely. To washing  _everything_ away completely.

Outside, the rain was still coming down hard, but with a much more natural pattern that reassured Jon that the impact of the failed ritual had only been relegated to his body. The occasional roll of thunder calmed his nerves now, instead of each sharp clap echoing in his ears.Now that he knew the storm was no longer born of his compliance with Jonah’s plan, all it could do was swirl overhead before fading into the background, the way every ritual done before had. 

The sky was still dark with rain, though, and painted everything a rich dark blue. What little daylight remained filtered in through the window to Jon’s back, falling across Martin’s sleeping face with a touch of grey light. Jon had just enough of it to appreciate the peace in his love’s expression— a peace his heart screamed for but couldn’t fully settle into. 

“Martin,” Jon whispered. 

His boyfriend opened one eye, then the other, blinking slowly at him. A sleepy smile tugged at his lips. “Hm?”

“You... saved the world... just now,” Jon said, his voice thin and hitching with awe. He met Martin’s eyes. “You know that, right?”

Martin was silent for a moment, no doubt processing what Jon meant. Then he sighed. His expression was so much more tired than expected as he shifted closer to Jon, guiding his head to his chest and keeping a protective hand there.

“That doesn’t matter to me right now,” Martin said, his tone quiet but firm. His mind still echoed with the images and sounds of all the unimaginable pain Jon had been in only an hour before, all the while reminding him that he had been the one to trigger it. He began to sift his fingers through Jon’s dark tresses again, taking a deep breath and speaking into them.

“I’m just... glad you’re okay.”

Jon curled into him further. “Martin...”

“I mean it,” he insisted, cupping Jon’s face in his hands. Even in this state, Martin couldn’t stop a single, disbelieving laugh from escaping him like a hiccup at the image of their faces being so close. He gathered himself as best he could and slowly stroked Jon’s cheeks with both of his thumbs.

“I... I didn’t think I was saving the world. Even when I read that statement, I thought I’d saved  _you_ \- but you got that... that w-withdrawal.” Martin blinked back tears, only to find Jon’s hand was already there to sweep them away.

“I’m sorry...”

Jon gave him a reassuring smile, though it had a sadness to it. “Don’t be, love. I’m alright now, and... if me getting hurt means we still have a world to live in, I think it’s worth it.”

“But you’re  _my_ world,” Martin said, almost inaudible over the rain outside. He sniffed, wiping away drainage from his nose as he cried. “And I hurt you.”

“ _Elias_ hurt me, Martin,” Jon whispered. His partner shuddered through every breath, only evening out when Jon leaned in and kissed the tears from his eyes. He moved his hand from Martin’s back and up to rest on the side of his neck, and brushed his thumb along the jaw cradled in his hand. His next words were low and gentle. “And you  _did_ save me.”

Martin exhaled heavily at Jon’s touch, grievances left behind save for one last shaky breath. He had saved the world, sure, but there was only one person in it that mattered to him— and only one thing he needed from that person right now.

Martin pressed his forehead to Jon’s and curled his hand around the base of his skull, buried beneath waves of salt and pepper.

“Kiss me,” he breathed. 

Jon needed no further instruction. Rather than jumping in right away, he slowly made his way to Martin’s lips, still tasting salt on them as they interlocked with his own. His partner’s body relaxed instantly. 

Nothing had felt real to Jon in the past year except for Martin. Waking up from six months of nightmares, the thought of him was the first thing to bring Jon to full lucidity. He had marked time by fleeting encounters with the man he wanted so desperately to hold again. Jon’s mind still had no idea how to process fear on the scale he had grown accustomed to, and any other feeling seemed all but lost. But the love he felt rush through him any time he caught Martin’s wide hazel eyes was something he knew, something he could cling too. That feeling of safety, familiarity and comfort— Jon chased it right into the fourteenth nail in his coffin. 

But now, kissing the man he’d risked everything for, he knew with absolute certainty that it was worth it. Martin was worth everything and more.

Jon kissed him with fervor now, opening his mouth just a touch more, and Martin responded in kind. The white noise outside and the thrumming of rain on the roof almost gave them a rhythm, interspaced with far-off thunder. As soon as Jon caught a bit of his partner’s lip between his teeth, though, he strayed from the mouth and made his way across Martin’s face, kissing every freckle he could find. No sound made Jon happier than the soft giggling that filled his ears. 

He started to kiss his way down, past Martin’s jawline and settling on his hint of an Adam’s apple, where Jon promptly planted his lips and went to work. He latched on so fully that his teeth dug into the skin around his area of effect. Martin gasped, his hands closing around the fabric of Jon’s shirt. He had never been kissed so intensely _anywhere_ , let alone in the spot his partner had chosen. Jon smirked through his locked lips and continued to kiss Martin’s neck, pride evident on what little could be seen of his face. 

Martin arched his back, humming both with satisfaction and to feel Jon’s lips press further into his throat as the sound traveled through it. The sensation sent a powerful chill through him, and he couldn’t catch his lover’s name as it escaped him.

Jon looked up at Martin through his lashes, suppressing a laugh when he saw how red his boyfriend’s face had gotten from underneath. He started to remove himself from the now dark site he’d been kissing, when-

“Don’t stop,” Martin whined, craning his neck back. His voice was agonizingly small and full of desire. “Please.”

Jon couldn’t argue with that logic. He smiled and dove for Martin, colliding loosely with his lips. By now, though, neatness was out the window. Jon grazed along the lower half of Martin’s face, nipping playfully whenever he felt the need to. _Or_ whenever he wanted to make Martin gasp again— the way his shoulders twitched and his head angled back when he did was just  _irresistible_. Everything about him was.

Without warning, Martin backed away and, locking eyes with Jon, pulled his shirt over his head. His auburn curls seemed to bounce with him as he straightened his back and tossed the shirt aside, breathing heavily for a moment before re-initiating the kiss. Without the shirt in his way, Jon ran his hands up and down Martin’s back. He had experienced this pleasure a couple of times already, but it still amazed him to learn just how warm his boyfriend’s body was.

Jon returned to the point of origin and left a lingering kiss on Martin’s lips, before flopping onto his back in exhaustion. He took deep, ragged breaths and watched proudly as Martin, positively glowing, propped himself up to look at him.

“Your turn,” Jon said, the joke teasing in his voice barely noticeable beneath how dry it was.

“Not before I get you some water,” Martin tutted, leaning down to kiss Jon’s forehead, just to tide him over. He rolled out of bed and padded into the kitchen with his arms stretching over his head. 

Martin caught a glimpse of his reflection in the rain-spotted window as he reached into the cabinet, and he shocked himself by smiling at it. He had gotten so used to seeing a sunken, forlorn expression resting on his face in the past few months. Now, though, whenever he saw himself, even if he wasn’t smiling, he looked  _happy_.

Martin filled the cup he grabbed with lukewarm water at the tap and retreated back to the warmth and relative darkness of the bedroom. He saw Jon sit up as he pushed the door open, hugging his legs.

“Do I get kisses now?” he asked meekly as he took the water.

“So impatient!” Martin said in mock exasperation. “Your throat sounds really dry, drink that first.”

Jon nodded and tilted his head back. Martin couldn’t help but watch the movement of his throat as the water went down, the bruise on his own neck still tender and seeming to throb at the sight. He licked his lips. Maybe he was a little impatient, too. 

The second Jon set the cup down on the nightstand, Martin was on him. He held his partner’s face in one hand, sliding it up and to his temple as he leaned in close. But he stopped just short of closing the distance between their lips. Instead, Martin held Jon there, drinking in the anticipation as even the bridges of their noses crossed and their lips barely touched. Jon let out a frustrated groan, which only made Martin love this more. He moved his other hand to Jon’s hip and began to let it wander anywhere he knew his boyfriend was comfortable with, drawing lines up his spine with the faintest of touches that made his love shudder. While his attention was on that, Martin took this opportunity to bring their lips together. Satisfied with the noise of surprise that escaped from Jon, he cupped his angular jaw in both hands and guided it forward. 

Martin kissed much more slowly, making sure to be gentle with Jon after what he’d been through earlier. His hands crept back down until they tentatively pinched the hem of Jon’s shirt, and he stepped away from the kiss to look him in the eyes.

“Can I?” Martin said on an exhale.

Jon nodded, a curious smile tugging at his lips. “Just this, though,” he added.

“Right,” Martin reassured him, softening his gaze. He set about helping his partner squirm out of the sweatshirt he’d been wearing. “I just wanted to do this.”

Martin slipped his hands around the small of Jon’s back and lowered them both back down into the bed. Once his face was level with Jon’s chest, he brought his lips to the large, twisting scar that sprawled across his heart. His face was tickled by whatever thick, dark chest hair found purchase in the unmarred spaces, and he made his way across them with careful precision. Martin kissed every spot, scrape, and swathe of discoloration or raised skin, slowly and deliberately, murmuring praises between each one. 

“ _My hero... my love... my everything..._ ”

Jon lay flat against the bed, unable to process the sheer bliss that flooded him with every feathery touch of Martin’s lips against his body. His hands found his lover’s bare back and rested there, taking in how soft Martin felt under his roughened fingers. The calm, gentle way that Martin held, touched, and kissed him stood in contrast to how eager Jon had been, and even in this state of ecstasy, he felt a twinge of guilt. Was he wrong to have let his energy out that way? 

As if sensing his doubt, Martin wrapped his fingers around Jon’s burned hand. He brought it to his lips.

“Beautiful,” Martin whispered, close enough that Jon felt his breath. He kissed the scar, then entwined Jon’s fingers with his own, his expression intense and almost sultry. “Every inch of you.”

Another kiss, this time on the knuckles. Martin got up on his knees so that he was now crouched over Jon, and lowered his head to his partner’s shoulder like a bow. He continued to kiss every scar, but his words were nearly unintelligible at this point, submerged beneath his labored breathing until they became nothing more than moans. Martin kept his hand around Jon’s and positioned it over one of his breasts, making a squeezing motion. His partner blinked in awe and followed Martin’s command. As he did so, Jon felt another surge of pride at the way Martin blossomed with pleasure under his touch. This was the only power he wanted. 

Something in the way Jon touched him had set Martin into a higher gear. The deliberate pauses between each blessing he laid on his boyfriend’s skin were no longer there, instead driving the force behind his words into firmer, longer kisses on each scar. Jon writhed underneath him, pushing himself up and into every one. His hands traveled, but always found their way back to Martin’s hair, which he ran his fingers through as gently as he could while in such a state.

Martin found himself at Jon’s neck, and contemplated if he should borrow a page from his book. He’d never given anyone a hickey before, and after expressing all his love for the markings Jon _already_ had , it would feel wrong to give him a new one. 

The stripe across Jon’s throat in particular, where Daisy had slashed him, called out to Martin. It was one of the lighter shades in his lover’s rich palette, and he approached it with a plan. Martin kissed the very tip of the scar, seemingly as chaste as the rest. Then, leaning into the angle of it, Martin began to walk his lips along the line, sucking on the raised, pale skin his kiss had surrounded. The moan that accompanied the hand gripping the back of his neck traveled from Jon’s throat up and through Martin’s mouth, and he smiled through it. 

Mirroring how his boyfriend wrapped up, Martin kissed his way to Jon’s jawline. He allowed himself to run a finger along the ample scruff there, a new feature he was endlessly happy about having suggested. Intent on kissing the last few scars with repose, Martin slowed himself down. He met Jon’s eyes, brought his hand up and swept back the hair covering his forehead, revealing a scar that was almost never visible to him.

“I love you,” Martin whispered. He framed Jon’s face with his hands and kissed the scar on his forehead.

“I have always loved you.” The star-shaped burn on his left cheek. 

Martin pressed their foreheads together, lips almost touching. Both of them heaved, gasping for the air that came from the other’s mouth. 

“And I always will.” 

He finished with a sweet, gentle kiss that poured in more love than Jon thought his heart could hold. Martin started to draw back, but Jon protested. His hand that had found its home in Martin’s hair slid down his neck and swept around to hold the corner of his boyfriend’s jaw as he leaned in to continue the kiss. Martin let out a contented sigh and relaxed into it.

Slowly, though, tiredness started to overtake them, and their lips parted reluctantly. Jon watched as his beloved’s eyes fluttered open, relishing how they settled on him with such infinite affection. Despite it all, his heart still leapt. 

“You’re...  _gorgeous_ ,” he breathed, brushing his thumb across Martin’s lips. 

Martin smiled bashfully and curled his hand around Jon’s. He started to say something in return, but it turned into a yawn that took his voice up an octave. Martin couldn’t help but giggle weakly at his timing.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes. “I was going to say ‘speak for yourself.’”

He happily shuffled himself further into the pillows and blanket. After a beat he opened his eyes to see Jon still watching him, his expression soft and loving.

Martin opened his arms. “C’mere.”

Jon crawled into his sanctuary, breathing a sigh of relief as Martin’s soft arms gingerly enfolded him.  There was no other way he would rather fall asleep. 

**Author's Note:**

> my touch-starved ass went OFF with this one i hope it was enjoyable 😔👊
> 
> as usual, pls comment if you have thoughts!! i love to hear any and all reactions to my fics! if youre shy (or really outgoing) you can reach out to me on discord (diamondchili#3539) to chat!
> 
> (also a quick note: when i first posted this i was VERY sleep deprived, and i made a rude joke in the tags at the expense of folks who write sexual content of these two. i thought i was defending those who feel uncomfortable with that, but to put it plainly this was Not Cool of me to say and a commenter pointed that out. i agree with them completely, and have since removed the tag and that comment thread to keep this space positive. but i felt it was important to include a formal apology here, so it didn’t look like i was just covering up my mistake! moral of the story here folks: nobody’s perfect, don’t speak up for ppl who can speak for themselves, and don’t tag ur fics at 5am!)
> 
> i hope you all liked it! seeya in the next one friends!! 💙


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